Could crop circles be the work of a cereal killer?

My mom�s decision not to take me up on my offer of a home near my home left me very depressed all yesterday. That and the fact that nothing of interest happened worth reporting meant that I had no desire to sit in front of the computer being selfindulgent in my sorrow. I spoke with her this morning and she�s been having a lot of angina, especially when she attempts to climb stairs. Later this month a horde of visitors descend on her (my cousins from Minneapolis) and they have told her in advance that they don�t expect her to lift a finger on their behalf. But in the meantime she has been doing laundry, which is in the basement, and can�t go down there now to put the towels in the dryer or carry dry laundry upstairs because she gets chest pains every time. She has an appointment with the doctor this afternoon and will discuss the possibility of an angioplasty. This was offered to her in the hospital and she turned it down. Now it means she may have to wait.

Living at a distance from my mother is causing me no end of anxiety. I am so disappointed that she decided not to move to L�ville. She says she would never see my brother. Now I�m afraid she will never see me. Oh, forget it, this just depresses me more to talk about it.

I have been working away (slowly) at the parts for Hubby�s viola concerto. Because I�m not copying the full score, just the parts, it�s taking much longer. Every time there is a meter change or a new tempo indication I have to add it to each instrument separately, whereas with a score it would go in once and would still be there when I extracted parts. The unmetered sections are driving me crazy because there is so much finicky detail, and I�ve had to fudge with the measure numbers to show where the violins, for example, just repeat the box music until the conductor cues them, but they have absolutely no idea of the actual meter changes or how many measures they are playing. It offends my musical sensibilities.

Speaking of music, I haven�t practised since we got back from Lethbridge and I feel particularly slothful. Thus begins my summer decline, something I vow every spring I will not allow to happen, and which somehow insidiously slips into my psyche and causes no end of grief come fall when I have to start teaching again and sound like a cross between a raven and a steamboat whistle. I envy productive people, like harri3tspy and zitagsd who always seem able to accomplish so much. It�s not that I�m particularly lazy; when I have a task I plug away at it until it�s done. But I have a problem getting started. There must be an actual term for that psychological affliction, but I can�t think of it.

Okay, this has been an exercise in not copying music. So I had better get back to work (since I am actually going to get paid for this job and Hubby freaks out when he sees me so far behind [although I get caught up very quickly and he freaks out because he�s behind]) and have lunch when he gets back from his tennis game.

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